


Possibilities

by mcicioni



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of newcomers to Four Corners meet with some opposition. Our heroes lend a hand. Meanwhile, Vin tries to get closer to Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possibilities

**_Sunday afternoon_ **

The wagon rolled slowly down Main Street and out of town, women's laughter and calls floating back from it towards the half-bemused, half-relieved townspeople. Four men followed it with their eyes until the clouds of dust raised by the wheels had settled back into the yellow dirt of the street.

'There's more to these ladies than meets the eye.' JD sighed wistfully at the thought of Emily, the young, giggly girl with whom he had almost 'had something'. Then he laughed, self-consciously. 'Hell if I can figure it out.'

Buck smiled down at him from his horse, with amused protectiveness. 'Welcome to manhood, kid,' he said. 

JD flushed deeply, eyes darting here and there in a frantic search for another topic of conversation, and settling on Ezra. Lounging against the door of the barber shop, the con-man was adjusting the bow of his silk string tie, studiously trying to avoid the eyes of the male citizens who had recognised him as the sultry chanteuse who had so successfully distracted the customers of Wickes' Town with her falsetto voice and purple silk gown.

'You must've broken a couple of hearts there, Ezra,' JD said, half proud of his sidestepping skills and half astounded at his own audacity.

'I bet there were one or two you wouldn't have minded… getting acquainted with. The ones you didn't deck, that is,' Buck smirked, expecting a cutting, polysyllabic retort to his line of attack.

The con-man's eyes clouded, the fair complexion of his neck and cheeks swiftly flooded by a very atypical, deep wave of red. 'You can go to hell, Mr Wilmington,' he drawled, his Southern accent lengthening every syllable menacingly, as he wheeled around and stalked back to the saloon.

'What the hell did…' Buck's broad grin faded, his mouth opening instead in stunned self-consciousness. He turned to the tall man in the black hat and striped poncho who was leaning against a post, smoking silently. 'Hey, Chris. Did I go too far this time?'

Chris took a long puff of his cheroot, dark blue eyes sizing up Buck quickly and mercilessly. 'You always do,' he stated matter-of-factly before turning to the broad-shouldered figure in a bullet-pierced hat and worn buckskin jacket who had emerged from the saloon to join them. 

Vin nodded back, an eyebrow lifting in inquiry. 'Chris,' he said quietly, his head turning in the direction of the lighted window of the newspaper office.

Wordlessly, Chris detached his long-limbed frame from the post and started making his way across the street beside Vin.  
'What cat did Buck let out of the bag this time?' Vin asked as they stepped around a wagon stopping outside the General Store.

'He's just found out that Ezra ain't all that fond of the ladies.' Chris's voice was short, unconcerned.

'Oh.' Vin glanced sideways at Chris, opened his mouth, shut it, shrugged, swiftly moved on to a completely new topic of conversation. 'I moseyed into the saloon and asked Nathan and Josiah to come along, too.'

_The sensible ones_ , Chris thought with an almost imperceptible nod of approval to his second-in-command. _Must be a sticky situation, then_. 

As he pushed open the door of the _Clarion News_ office and let Vin go through before him, he saw Mary Travis standing behind her desk, eyes flashing, trying to breathe evenly as she listened to the three citizens in their Sunday best who stood close together facing her, talking alternately, one after the other and all at once, in a jumble of accents and timbres.

'…and they won't eat what we eat. I made a pot of my beef stew, the best in the county if I have to say so myself, to show that we can be neighbourly, and that darned woman had the nerve to say "Ve don’t eat meat here, tank you".' Virginia McManus's voice shook with righteous anger as it tried to imitate a foreigner's slow, halting delivery. Short, thin and neatly dressed, she held herself ramrod straight, with all the dignity conferred to her by her status as a mother of five and the manager of Virginia's Hotel, the bigger, and better, of the two boarding houses in town.

'Just like in the old country.' Karol Janakiewski, after nearly twenty years' farming in the new world, had lost all but the faint trace of an accent. 'These people open a shop, then they close it on Friday lunchtime and go stay in Eagle Bend until Sunday. And Saturday's the only day when folks have the time to count their money and go get measured for a new pair of trousers.'

'And they’re open on Sundays, and that ain’t right either.’ Jim Turnbull’s drooping moustache half-muffled his slow, sullen words. 'And what sort of weird names do they got anyway, I ask you. Shavitzky's bad enough. But who the heck ever heard of calling a man Dove and a woman River? Them real names or what?'

'They're in the Bible all right.' Josiah's gravelly voice was authoritative in the doorway. 'Dov means David. Riva means Rebecca.'

'And why _cain't_ they say David and Rebecca? Cain't they speak no English?'

'Not as well as you, they sure cain't.' Nathan stood behind Josiah, his dark face impassive as he stared down Turnbull's resentful glare.

'Anyway. Like we were saying, Mrs Travis.' Virginia McManus came back to the point with determination. 'It'd be easy enough for you to write something in the paper about how the town is not… ready for folks who are that different. And then maybe we could have a meeting and send a delegation to the tailor's shop to let them know.'

'That's quite enough.' Mary's fists clenched on her desk. 'If we want to call our town civilised, we must be willing to accept everyone who's decent and hard-working. As the Shavitzkys are. I will not write anything of the kind, now or ever.'

'You will regret it,' Janakiewski muttered, with a deep shrug of his heavy shoulders. 'You let the _Yids_ into any place, they take it over. How do you say, give them an inch…' He made for the door, attempting to push past Chris and scowling when the other man's unyielding stance forced him to step sideways.

' _Yids_?' Jim Turnbull frowned uncomprehendingly, motioning Virginia McManus out of the door before him.

'It's what _they_ are. What we called them in the old country. They don't like it much.' Janakiewski's snigger echoed through the office as the three concerned citizens started walking away, muttering indistinctly to one another.

The four men and the newspaper-woman looked at one another. Vin took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. 'Think you talked 'em out of it, Mrs Travis?'

'Don't count on it.' Nathan spoke slowly, with complete certainty. Chris and Josiah nodded in silent agreement.

'I could write an article on prejudice, I suppose.' Mary's voice trailed a little uncertainly. 'But without any specific reference, it'd sound like…' She glanced at Josiah, half-smiled.

'Yeah. Preaching.' The older man winked at her, his blue eyes warm in his ungainly, weathered face. 

'Haven't met the Shavitzkys yet.' Chris searched in his pocket for a cheroot, lit it pensively. 'No time, they opened their shop just before the trouble started with Wickes' girls.' He nudged Vin, his mouth quirking. 'Come on. Let's go get neighbourly.'

Falling easily into step with each other, they sauntered side by side past the closed doors of the Emporium, the bank and the bakery, towards the edge of town, where half-finished buildings were standing close to new, freshly-painted houses and shops. Chris felt his companion slant a couple of glances at him behind the broad rim of his hat, and turned to look at him.

'You'd got Ezra figured out, right?'

'Yeah.' Vin concentrated on the smoke he was building, licked the paper, then looked at the other man levelly. 'After I quit buffalo hunting, I went on a couple of cattle drives. The Sedalia trail. Weeks, even months without a woman, and the men…' A brief, good-natured smirk.

Chris nodded. 'Anybody pair up steady?' he inquired, laconically.

Amusement flickered in Vin's eyes. 'You curious?' A short pause. 'Trail boss was a good man,' he drawled. 'You remind me of him, sometimes.' He applied a match to his cheroot. 'Ramrod was a younger guy. Hot-headed as they come. He and the boss couldn't stop arguing. Beat the livin' daylights out of each other once. Yet it wasn't hard to see that they…' He stepped sideways to let a skittish horse pass between him and Chris. 'Felt for each other,' he muttered. Then he looked ahead, at the small, neat window of the only open shop in the street. A young woman with a kerchief on her head was arranging a jacket around the shoulders of a dummy. 'That's Shavitzky's place, ain't it?'

The inside of the tailor's shop was as tidy as its window. A nearly-finished blouse was folded over a small table, next to a row of spools of cotton and a flat iron. On a low bench lay a length of black wool, the shape of a pair of trousers outlined with white chalk on it. A young, bearded man standing in front of it was surveying the lines he had drawn, a pair of heavy scissors poised just above the cloth, one finger absently stroking his curly black hair under a small velvet skullcap. When Chris and Vin stepped in, he looked at them sombrely, but greeted them with politeness.

'Good afternoon, gentlemen.' His English was heavily accented, but precise. 'What could I do for you?'

'Just talk to us.' Chris's voice was coolly reassuring, and the man relaxed a little. 'Mr Shavitzky, you and your wife haven't been around all that long, and already there's people who…'

'Yes.' The woman turned from the shop window and adjusted the kerchief which covered most of her thick red braids, her eyes flashing up at him, green and troubled, before settling on her husband. 'In the new country, just like in the old country. It does not change.'

Dov stroked her arm, silently asking her to let him attempt an explanation, and spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully. 'In Kracow, we lived among our people. In a small part of the city, between two gates. We were poor. And the people from the city sometimes came and broke our windows, and left dreck… dirty things on our doorsteps. So Riva and I thought, he who is happy does not move, he who is unhappy tries his luck. We are good at what we do, we thought, maybe in the new world we will work hard, and earn enough to help some of our relatives come to join us. My sisters. Riva's cousin, the rebbe… teacher. Hard work, and no gates anywhere.'

'First we went to New York. There were many of our people there.’ Riva paused, sighed. ‘But life was not easy there either. So we thought, people's minds are… open in places that are new. And we went West. To Eagle Bend, because five other families are there already.’ She sighed again. ‘But Eagle Bend already has two tailors. So we thought that we would start a new life here, and spend ... Saturdays with our own. We hoped ...’ The anger and fear of centuries surfaced for a second in her eyes. 'We were wrong.'

'Give it time, Mrs Shavitzky,' Vin urged. 'It may change.'

'Any change, things are usually worse,' the woman shrugged.

'We'll do all we can to help,' Chris said, low, determined. 'Trust us. And Mrs Travis.'

'Trust.' Dov pronounced the monosyllable slowly, half questioningly, half bitterly.

'Yes.' Chris gave them both a long, steady look, tipped his hat and pushed the door open. Vin followed him, and they walked towards the saloon, side by side, pensively.

'Difficult to think of things we can do,' Vin mused.

'Unless something happens.' Chris's eyes narrowed.

'But then, we'd be fighting back, not helping them settle. And they'd leave. Like the girls did. No solution at all.'

They fell back into silence until they were seated in front of steaming platefuls of stew, with a bottle and two glasses between them.

'The girls. They couldn't have settled here. And they knew it.' Chris speared a piece of beef with his fork, chewed it quickly, swallowed, did the same with a mouthful of potatoes and carrots. 'They got guts, all of them. Independent. Survivors.' He looked up, into clear, level blue eyes.

'This is good stew, you know.' A small amused light was dancing in Vin's eyes. 'Maybe not the best in the county, but a joy to eat anyway.' A pause, during which Chris filled his mouth again, chewed, swallowed. 'Sometimes food's more than… fuel to keep the engine going. It can give… pleasure.' Vin's lips twitched under his light-brown moustache. 'One of the things that can.'

Chris lifted his glass and sipped, letting the liquid swirl in his mouth and set it tingling. Then he looked straight into the other man's eyes, acknowledging both the friendship and the tentative, unspoken question.

'Lydia's a friend,' he drawled. 'We were good to each other, a few times.' Warmth, a few quick flares of heat, over all too soon, with nothing but friendly tenderness afterwards. He pushed his plate away.

'Being with a friend. Letting go. Taking it easy.' Vin fingered his glass, watched the reflections of the light strike it. 'That's good, when it happens.' 

'Taking it easy,' Chris repeated slowly. And suddenly his stomach twisted, stabbed by a lacerating thought, the same one which sliced through him at least once a day, at a random word, at an image, at a gesture. _Like I did the night I stayed in Mexico, drinking with Buck, while my house was burning, and Sarah and Adam inside it. And there's nothing I can ever say or do that will change that_. He drained his glass, refilled it, emptied it in a movement made smooth by long practice, and stood up. 'Just what I can't do,' he said, looking down into blue eyes now clouding with concern. 'Promised JD I'd help him fix the locks on one of the jail cells. I'll see you around.' He walked out, feeling the drinks swirl around the throbbing pain in his stomach and begin to cover it, to dull it, and feeling Vin's gaze on his back, any unspoken questions in it silenced.

**_Monday_**

The first rays of the autumn sun filtered through the curtains of Chris's open window and touched his closed eyelids. He stirred and looked around the room, slowly, half-formed thoughts floating through his half-conscious mind. _Another day to get through, like I did yesterday, like I'll do tomorrow. That’s all I can do, to keep on living. One day at a time. Finding things to do, never mind if I want to do them or not_. He sighed, remembering the light dancing in Vin's eyes in the saloon, and for a second wondered if Vin ever lingered in bed, if he felt the warmth of the sheets as a source of pleasure rather than of heavy-hearted restlessness. Then he swung his legs out of bed in one swift, determined movement, and made short work of washing, shaving and dressing.

_And what's your pleasure today, Mr Larabee?_ He considered breakfast, dismissed the notion, and sauntered out into the street. Josiah's half-restored church came within his range of vision, the shadows inside the half-open door a promise of peace, however temporary. He walked in slowly, his eyes travelling along the dusty benches and the stained walls. He squatted down, prised open the lid of a can of paint with his knife, stirred it with a short stick, picked up a paintbrush, and started covering one of the walls in long, sweeping strokes. And, uncalled, but not entirely unexpected, a memory flashed through his mind and ripped his guts open, himself and Sarah painting their kitchen, baby Adam asleep in his basket, the peaceful warmth of home around all three of them. He allowed the pain to flood through him, giving himself to it as he concentrated on the measured movements of his arm, on the slapping of bristles on plaster, and on the even whiteness spreading before him. 

Time went by, he did not know how long. And then he heard the creaking of the door, and a few footsteps, and the plaintive notes of _Streets of Laredo_ blown softly from a harmonica behind him. 'Vin,' he acknowledged without turning, a corner of his mouth lifting. 

'Mornin'.' A few more notes, suspended in the still, dusty air between them. 

'Anything wrong? The Shavitzkys?' The paintbrush stilled in mid-air, then touched a crack in the plaster, dipped into it, covered it in deep white. 

'Not that I know of.' Vin stepped forward to lean against the unpainted portion of wall, sliding his harmonica back into a shirt pocket. 'Wanna go for a ride?' 

'Where to?' 

A snort of laughter. 'Nowhere in particular. Just riding. We don't have to talk, either.' 

'I'm busy.' Chris tried to soften the abruptness of his words with a faint smile. 

'So I see. But the church ain't opening tomorrow.' Vin reached out to scratch a speck of drying paint from Chris's shirtsleeve, then looked at his fingernails in silence. 

'You're worse than JD when it comes to taking no for an answer,' Chris grimaced, dropping the brush into a pail of water and closing the can of paint. 'All right. Wait till I saddle my horse.' 

'It's out the door,' Vin grinned, shifting out of range of arm and paintbrush with an easy, fluid motion. 

Between the yellow and red treetops the sky was pale, broken by long white streams of clouds, meeting the unbroken line of trees at the top of the low, distant hills. Chris slowed his horse down to a walking pace and looked around, at the peeling bark on the trunks of cottonwoods, at the tall trunks of beeches, at the shapes of the branches, at the orange-brown leaves on the ground. He breathed in deeply, allowing his body and spirit to relax, however temporarily, in the blend of colours, and the smell of earth and fresh air, and the silent presence of the man riding just behind him. 

'Chris.' The silence was broken, Vin's voice as soft as the thud of their horses' hooves on the grass. 'What happened to your wife and son, it wasn't your fault. There was no way you could’ve known Fowler was coming for you. Like there was no way you could’ve stayed with them every single moment of their lives. But you keep blaming yourself. That's the way you are.' 

Chris pulled on the reins and turned sharply around to stare hard at him. 'If there's one thing I don't need, it's someone telling me the way I am.' He saw the other man flinch a little, felt a twinge of regret, conveyed it with a small rueful grimace. Vin's eyes met his, with open concern rather than resentment. _A friend. And he called me that after knowing me for all of two days, when he told me about the bounty on his head in Tascosa_. 

Vin stopped his horse, stretched to pluck a twig from a branch, stuck it in his mouth, chewed on it pensively. 'When I went on that trail drive,' he started, eyes fixed on the tip of the twig, ignoring the other man's frown at the abrupt change of topic. 'The trail boss and the ramrod. I… kind of envied them. What they had together.' 

Chris's eyebrows went up almost imperceptibly, then he nodded, with just a brief grunt of acknowledgment. 'You've been with men,' he said, after the silence between them had stretched for a few moments. 

'Yeah. And with women. Not all that many of either.' A hint of laughter tugged at the corners of Vin's mouth. 'It was good, nearly every time. Nearly everyone I've been with, I've… liked. But there ain't never been anyone I've… felt for.' He spat the twig out and raised his eyes into Chris's. 

Until now. 

Chris let the words hang, unspoken, in the air between them. 'After what happened to my family, I haven't felt for anyone,' he said after a while. 'Don't think I can any more.' _The ashes of that fire are still blowing through my guts. That's all I've got to give, ashes_. 

Vin's gaze was still on him, reflective as well as compassionate. 'Maybe…' Just a moment's hesitation, then he spoke slowly, clearly. 'Maybe living with pain's easier than having another try.' 

Chris turned sharply away, gazed at the rolling green range-lands ahead. 'Living with myself is hard enough,' he muttered, barely loud enough for the other man to hear. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at Vin's expressive face, not hurt, not angry, just intent as he looked at him. 

'Wanna ride back?' Vin asked after a little while. 

'Yeah.' 

As they trotted into town, they saw the door of the small schoolhouse open and boys and girls from six to fifteen burst out noisily, the younger children right behind the adolescents. Vin's good-natured smirk slowly faded to a puzzled half-frown as, instead of rushing off in all directions, the children moved in a compact group down Main Street, past the church, past the bank, past the bakery, and came to a collective stop outside the tailor's shop. Chris and Vin glanced at each other and wordlessly nudged their mounts forward, following them. 

' _Yids_!' one of the oldest boys shouted. Chris scowled, noticing that the boy had Karol Janakiewski's flaxen hair and thickset build. 

' _Yids_!' a boy and a girl echoed together. Chris recognised them from the boarding-house: two of Virginia McManus's brood. 

' _Yids, Yids, Yids_!' The cry grew, bounced back and forth by twenty youthful voices, and reverberated through the air, piercing the closed door and the clean pane of the shop window. 

' _Yids, Yids, Yids, Yids_!' The one word filled the children's mouths and repeatedly struck the two faces behind the window, Riva's white with shock, Dov's drawn with despair. 

Chris and Vin, without looking at each other, applied their heels to their horses' bellies and moved forward through the small crowd, controlling the animals' movements so as not to hurt anyone, but dispersing the children left and right, before dismounting and standing outside the shop in grim, silent warning. The swinging doors of the saloon were pushed outwards, and Ezra, Nathan and Josiah slowly walked up the street to stand beside them. From the sheriff's office, JD and Buck ran to join the others. It was Nathan who, after a few seconds, knocked and waited for the door to open. 

'We will leave tomorrow morning.' Dov's voice was chilly with bitter resolve. 

'Back to Eagle Bend. And then, to New York,' Riva whispered, trying to unobtrusively wipe two tears that were burning their way down her cheeks. 'We had hoped. But there is no hope.' 

'Wait.' JD was the first one to speak, urgently, passionately. 'Don't give up. What these kids did is… irresponsible.' He paused, a second's pride at himself for finding the right word lighting up his eyes. 'I'll go arrest all of 'em, make them spend a night in jail. That'll teach them.' 

'Will it?' Buck scoffed. 'Tannin' their hides just might, though. I'll volunteer for the job if nobody else is game.' 

'An eye for an eye only leads to more blindness,' Josiah pointed out, handing Riva a large, pristine handkerchief. 'And you'll just teach them that whoever's stronger has the last word.' 

Nathan's eyes narrowed as he looked hard at his closest friend. 'So what's your suggestion, Josiah? That they should turn the other cheek?' His dark brown face went grey as unwelcome images crowded behind his eyes. 'Till the kids' parents decide to take care of things themselves? Like they're doing in Alabama and Mississippi, with us colored folks?' 

'We can take turns guarding your shop,' Vin mused, looking straight into Dov's eyes. 'Round the clock. But for how long?' 

Ezra's cultured Southern drawl rose from the back of the shop, where he had been fingering a bolt of wool. 'I may have been guilty of racial prejudice until recently…' A swift glance at Nathan, and a slow smile which made his two gold teeth glitter. 'But I never did approve of using people under the age of consent to enforce any kind of attitude. And I do believe that a little subtlety may be in order under these circumstances.' He looked at the uncomprehending Shavitzkys, his smile broadening. 'Sir, ma'am, if you'll be willing to wait no more than three days, I have an idea.' 

'A scam, you mean,' Josiah scowled. 

'No, my mistrustful friend. Everything on the level. For once.' He walked up to the Shavitzkys, drawing Josiah along, and conferred with them in low, urgent whispers. Chris saw Riva’s eyes light up and heard her laugh, a short, deep-throated sound, and murmur something that sounded like _gonif_. Dov nodded cautiously, then with a soft chuckle whispered some additional suggestions. A delighted, deep guffaw burst from Josiah’s wide mouth as the conversation ended. 

'It's so crazy that it just may work.' The preacher dealt the con-man a hearty back-slap and reached out to divest Buck of his large, deep-crowned hat. 'All right, friends. Give me all the nickels and dimes you've got. It's in a good cause. And let's put a few dollar bills in, too; our sheriff can go to the bank and get change for them.' 

'You both sure about this?' Chris looked sternly from one to the other of the new, most unlikely allies, before dropping a handful of coins and a two-dollar bill into Buck's hat. 

'Nothing's sure under the sun,' the preacher shrugged. 'But…' he beamed at the Shavitzkys, 'hope is a gift of the Almighty. And so's resourcefulness. A gift mightier than the sword.' 

'Until tomorrow,' Ezra grinned wolfishly, stretching out a hand for Buck's hat and passing it to Vin. 'Same time, same place. You won't hear another word about the show, gentlemen, except that it'd be a pity to miss it.' 

_**_Tuesday_**_

The late morning sun was warming the verandah of Virginia’s Hotel, where Chris was sitting, reading. He looked up as Vin ambled up the street towards him and sat down on the top step. 'I'm busy,' he drawled.

'You always manage to be.' Vin reached for the slim volume, looked at the cover, slowly mouthed the title to himself, and raised a well-shaped eyebrow. ' _The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus_? Who's he, and what happens to him?'

'He sells his soul to the devil, and ends up in Hell,' was the terse summing-up.

'Real cheerful,' was the straight-faced rejoinder. 'Hey, school's gonna be out soon. Thought you'd want to watch Ezra's show, whatever it is.'

Chris gave a curt nod, putting the book down and following Vin down the steps. 'Better keep out of sight, though. Or the kids may not give a repeat performance.'

They lounged at the corner of the bank, where they could keep an eye on the tailor's shop without being spotted. From the belltower of the church, Josiah sent them a friendly wave. They nodded at JD, half-hidden by the door of the livery stable, and at Buck, apparently deep in conversation with a young woman in a flowered shawl.

'Ezra and Nathan are inside,' Vin whispered. 'Just in case.'

They didn't have to wait long. In twos and threes, more circumspectly than the previous day, but still with an air of determination about them, about a dozen children started gathering outside the shop, the younger ones looking at the older ones for the signal to begin.

' _Yids_!' one of the McManuses cried out.

' _Yids! Yids! Yids_!' The chorus grew quickly, tauntingly, and continued for a couple of minutes, interspersed with catcalls. Chris and Vin frowned at each other, but did not move.

And then the door of the shop opened, and Riva Shavitzky stepped out. The children cast swift glances at her, and saw that, instead of a broomstick or a rifle, she was carrying a heavy tray, from which she started to lift small, not unfamiliar-looking brown objects.

'Please,' she invited, quite gently. 'They are kichlen… cookies. Take one each.'

The children looked at one another, nonplussed. The smallest girl tentatively stretched out a hand, was given a cookie, stuck it into her mouth, then beamed in unreserved appreciation. A couple of boys followed suit, then an older girl. They were all standing around Riva, their mouths too full to do anything other than munch, when the door was pushed open again, and Dov came out, carrying a small, jingling bag.

'Thank you, children,' he said formally. Then he fished into the bag and extracted a couple of coins. 'Here's a nickel for each of you. If you will come back and do that again tomorrow, you will get another cookie, and another coin.' 

Two dozen eyes stared at him in utter amazement. The Janakiewski boy scowled, then shrugged, then ungraciously stuck out a hand. Within a minute all the children had disappeared in the direction of the general store, to invest the gift in marbles or candy.

Chris heard a chuckle behind him. He turned, and smirked into Vin's openly delighted eyes. ' _That_ can't work for too long, either,' he warned.

'Three days, Ezra said. Let's give him the benefit of the doubt.'

'Trustful soul, ain't you.' Chris allowed himself one small smile, which changed into an assessing stare as a recollection struck him. 'You trusted me with your surname on the day we met. With that bounty still on your head.'

'I'm not often wrong,' was the quiet, confident reply.

_Wish I could say the same_ ,Chris thought, his face impassive. _The mistakes I made. The men I hit or killed in anger. The eighteen-year-old kid I left dead in Dodge, when I could have just scared him off. I may have changed some. But my mistakes are still a part of me, they're me_. He glimpsed warmth and concern in the blue eyes studying him and abruptly turned away from them, striding off towards the saloon. 'Come on,' he threw over his shoulder. 'I'll buy you a drink, and we'll toast Ezra's scheme.'

_**Wednesday**_

At the same time as the previous day, Chris was standing alone behind the window of the bakery, watching the tailor's shop, curious despite himself. He knew, without looking, that Josiah, JD and Buck were at the same stations as twenty-four hours earlier, and that Ezra and Nathan were with the Shavitzkys. Vin had been nowhere to be seen all morning, and Chris allowed himself to wonder if his abruptness of the day before had finally discouraged the other's attempts at closeness. _Wouldn't be the first time I spoiled things with a friend, either_. He recalled a morning, a few weeks earlier, when he'd been so angry at Buck for revealing his past to Mary Travis that he'd sought him out in the barber shop and held a razor to his throat. Things between him and Buck hadn’t been quite the same ever since. _That's what I do real well. As well as using a gun. Scaring people off_.

The sound of running feet shook him out of his brooding. Twice as many children as the day before, nearly all the town's schoolchildren, were gathering outside the tailor's window, beginning to shout the one word even before they'd stopped, repeating it louder and louder, singing it out with gusto, bouncing it back and forth between them.

' _Yids! Yids! Yidsyidsyidsyids_!'

'Thank you, children.' Riva stepped out, a small basket on her arm. 'This is _mandelbrot_ … almond biscuits.'

'Thank you for coming.' Dov started handing out coins the moment his wife had finished distributing cookies. The children grabbed them, looked at them, frowned up at him.

'Hey they're pennies, not nickels.'

'Yes. I apologise. Times are not good. But take the pennies, and buy yourselves something nice.' Dov waved at the children as they set off towards the store. A few of them turned and waved back. He put an arm around his wife's shoulders, and together they walked inside the shop.

Chris felt his mouth fill with a taste of ashes, his guts twisting in a spasm. After three years, I should've learned to live with it. But seeing two people together, close in good times and bad, still rips me apart. He stared out of the window, only dimly seeing the running children, the wagons, the people moving. _I'll never be able to be like that again, with anyone. To have something to give. To accept something in return._.

'Hello, cowboy.' Vin ambled into the bakery, paid for two buns, took a mouthful of one, and handed the other one over. 'Seeing those kids with the almond biscuits is makin' me crave something sweet, too.'

Chris looked him over, shaking his head, then took a bite of the bun with a nod of thanks. It was warm, bits of orange rind adding taste to the sweet dough.

Vin started walking out, half-turned, spoke through another mouthful. 'Wanna go for another ride? The trees look good up the hill.'

'I'm…' Chris started, mechanically. Then he felt loneliness and regrets press inside his stomach, unbearably tight and heavy, and against his better judgement gave in. 'Why not?' he said shortly. 'Nothing much to do. Until the final act of the show tomorrow, at least.' He followed the other man out, the sweetness of the bun mixing with the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Red and purple and gold and green and brown were blending around them, dappled shadows at their feet, the sky pale and clear between the branches, the hint of a breeze insinuating under the buttoned-up collar of Chris's shirt, stirring Vin's hair off his shoulders.

'Livin' with yourself.' Vin spoke suddenly, taking up the conversation of two days earlier as if no time at all had elapsed. 'You think you're the only one who's got problems with it?'

Chris scowled at him, eyes darkening. Vin returned the look for a long moment before sliding off the saddle and leading his horse up a slight slope, without looking back. Chris blew out a short breath, dismounted and followed. They stood side by side at the top, looking at the outline of the hills, listening to the short notes of a meadowlark's call somewhere behind them.

'Shootin' buffalo.' The words were slow, coming from somewhere deep and rarely explored. 'Easy way of makin' a livin’, you think at first. A matter of pride, takin’ one down with one single shot. And then it gradually sinks in. That each animal you kill, it's an Indian family you sentence to starve and freeze come winter.' A pause, Vin's eyes still fixed on the hills beyond the plain. 'I got out. But I still got to live with what I did.'

'It's not the same thing,' Chris ground out.

'Ain't it?' Vin threw him a swift glance, lowered his voice. 'Then I hunted men down for money. Do you know the way a sheriff looks at you every time you go collect? And you see yourself in his eyes. Scum. Like the man you're takin’ in. Maybe worse.' A longer pause. 'I got out of that, too. Moved on.'

Chris's mouth twisted sardonically. 'Moved on to sweeping a store. Yeah. Good, steady work.' He regretted his words even as they were coming out. But Vin didn't flinch, and turned to look straight into his eyes.

'Not for the rest of my days. Just until I found some way I could do what I was good at, and still look at myself in the mornin’. With men I trusted. So that I could look ahead instead of back, at least some of the time.'

'It's not the same,' Chris repeated fiercely. 

'Ain't it?' Exasperation and warmth tangled in Vin's voice, and in his gaze. 'Chris. We're all damaged goods, each of us. Except JD. But all we can do is move on, look ahead.' A moment's concentration, followed by quick, urgent words. 'You got a glass of milk, and it's half full. You can spend the rest of your life regrettin' what emptied half of it. Or you can drink what's left, and it may taste all right.' Vin squared his shoulders and lay a hand on Chris's upper arm, light but firm. 'You don't think that anyone'd want to take you on as you are? That anyone'd feel… proud to be beside you? That anyone'd see… possibilities?' He stopped abruptly, a rush of colour flooding stubbled cheeks.

Chris kept staring at him in silence, the words reverberating in his head, the touch on his arm radiating heat through layers of cloth. _Possibilities_. He thought of Sarah's passionate commitment, of Lydia's wry tenderness. _This'd be…_ His body and spirit ached with a sudden, overwhelming yearning for the companionship born of shared experience, for the intimacy of mutual acceptance, for the touch of friendly hands on his skin.

And at once he felt the cold of self-hatred seep through his veins, and freeze all longing. _I can't let him. I can't let myself. I'd just ruin it, like I've ruined everything else. And he doesn't deserve it_. He shook his head, slowly, heavily, and saw the colour drain from Vin's cheeks as the hand on his arm lifted. Wordlessly, Vin turned around, swung into the saddle and galloped towards town, without as much as a glance back.

Chris watched him go, shivering hard. A line from the play he'd been reading rang out over and over in his mind, icy and merciless, Mephistopheles' words to Faustus: _Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it_. He felt his insides weaken as the ice spread and enclosed his body in a tight, inescapable casing. The meadowlark kept calling behind him, repetitive and mocking, until he forced himself to mount up and ride back.

**_Thursday_**

It was late morning again. Chris walked into the bakery, wondering what the last act of Ezra's show would bring, and if, and how, he'd be required to act on the consequences. He quickly scanned the street and the people. JD winked at him from the doorway of the bank. Buck, sprawling in a chair outside the saloon, lifted his eyes from the copy of the Clarion News he was pretending to read. Finally he saw Vin, standing behind a wagon, apparently engrossed in the examination of the sacks piled on it. The moment Chris's eyes fell on him, he stared back, intent, unsmiling. Then both turned their eyes on the large crowd of children racing towards the tailor's shop, the word they were chanting mixing with laughter and giggles, ringing out almost cheerfully among the street noises.

' _Yids! Yids! Yidsyidsyids_!'

'Thank you for coming.' Riva handed out cookies, nodding as quite a few of the children thanked her in return. Dov appeared behind her, stroking the dark curls under his skullcap with a somewhat regretful expression. The children gazed at his empty hands in bewilderment.

'I'm very sorry, children,' he sighed. 'Advertising is too expensive. We can't afford it any more. There will be no more cookies or coins. But you did your best. Many thanks.' 

'All good things…' one of the oldest boys groaned. 'Oh well. Let's go home.'

'Thanks all the same, sir,' a girl said politely.

'Yeah, thanks,' one of the McManus kids echoed happily. 'Cookies were great, ma'am. Better than my mom's.' 

'Goodbye,' many of the children called as they scattered towards their homes. JD threw his derby into the air, howling his delight, and Ezra stepped out of the shop to stand between the Shavitzkys, savouring his moment of triumph.

The shadows on the street were lengthening as the seven men and Mary Travis gathered in the tailor's shop, drinking lemon tea and discussing developments.

'Mrs McManus promised that she'll mend her ways. And that she'll send her husband to order a suit here,' Buck reported, looking smug.

JD poked him in the ribs, giggling. 'After _we_ talked to her. After Chris and Ezra and you and me told her that we were thinking of moving to the other boarding house.'

'I met Jim Turnbull this afternoon,' Mary Travis said reflectively. 'Talked with him for a while. He's from Tennessee. He told me how he hated it when he and his family were called _white trash_. Maybe…'

'Hey,' Chris interrupted her, frowning. A big open wagon, pulled by two broad-backed, thick-legged farm-horses, was coming to a halt outside the shop. The Janakiewski boy and three other sturdy, flaxen-haired children were sitting in the back. The stout, grim-faced woman driving it pulled hard on the reins, jumped off, collected an object wrapped in an apron, and imperiously motioned the children to follow her in.

Silently and swiftly, Nathan and Buck moved to flank the Shavitzkys as the shop filled almost to bursting point.

'I am Milena Janakiewska, and you have met my children.' The woman spoke heavily, addressing both her former country-people. 'You did right by them, and they didn't do right by you. They've come to apologise.' She glared at her offspring, who bowed their heads, one after the other. 'I am ashamed. You don't eat our food, but maybe you would like…' Her hands shaking, she removed the apron and handed Riva a flowerpot with a scrawny, half-grown geranium. 'To make your shop nicer. If you don't take it, I will understand.'

One of Riva's hands slowly lifted to take the offering. The other, also shaking a little, gestured towards the other woman's cheekbone, where a large dark bruise spread towards her ear.

'Your husband…'

'He could not come.' Milena's eyes narrowed. 'His head hurts too much. He was hit by a… _walek_.' The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then exchanged a flashing, wry grimace. Dov looked at the bemused faces of Mary and the seven men, and, a slight flush of embarrassment rising to his cheeks, started moving his closed fists backwards and forwards, miming the action of rolling out invisible dough. JD's laugh rang out at once, loud, unrestrained, followed by Buck's hearty guffaw and by the softer chuckles of the other five.

'Wait, please.' Dov dashed into the back room, reappeared with two handfuls of almond biscuits, and handed them round, first to the children, then to the adults. 'The children… they are young, they can learn.'

'For the adults, prospects are more uncertain.' Ezra ruffled the hair of the smallest girl. 'But I wouldn't say the situation looks altogether desperate.' His gold teeth glittered towards Dov and Riva. 'I mean, there's hope. If you choose to stay.'

Milena Janakiewska wordlessly put out a broad, rough hand. Riva put down the geranium and gently squeezed it. Then she looked at her husband, and they nodded together, hesitant hope and warmth beginning to shine out of their eyes.

Chris watched the Janakiewskis file out, climb back into their wagon and wave as it moved off. He saw Vin lift a hand in farewell, and JD raise his derby at them, and Nathan gaze after them, cautious hope in his dark eyes, too.

'You should ever want a new shirt, or trousers…' Dov began, clearing something out of his throat.

Nathan cut him off, gently. 'You're the man we'll come buy them from.'

'The European cut is always the finest.' Ezra fingered the lapel of a half-finished jacket appreciatively. 'These primitive townspeople do need a touch of sartorial elegance.'

Chris looked at Dov and Riva, standing close together. _A future. Prospects. Yes. They deserve it. And the relatives from the old country, who'll be leaving those gates to come stand beside them. Family_. He glanced at Vin, standing at the opposite end of the shop, and felt the yearning for companionship wash through him, the ache of it penetrating his marrow, shaking him to the core. His eyes were met and held for an instant, Vin's expression unreadable. Chris stepped out, shivering a little in spite of the warmth of the setting sun, and walked slowly among the main street, glancing left and right, at the entrance of the hotel, at the door of the _Clarion News_ , at the swinging doors of the saloon. He had a swift debate with himself about whether to enter and spend the rest of the evening in front of a whisky bottle, then shrugged and headed for his room, with slow, even steps.

He closed the door and looked around, at the bare brick walls, the fluttering curtain at the half-open window, the neatly made double bed. For a second he felt like lying down and closing his eyes in the hope that sleep would claim him until the next morning, until the next job to be done. Then he sighed, reached for his Winchester behind the door, snapped it open, took the bullets out, and took out a can of oil, a rag, and the cleaning rod, and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

The knock on the door didn't surprise him. 'Come in, Vin,' he said flatly.

'You're busy.' Vin spoke just as flatly, as he pushed the door closed, threw his hat on the bed and firmly placed a half-full glass of milk on the table, watching him.

'Yeah.' Chris held the barrels up towards the light of the window, looked through them, reached for the cleaning rod, pushed it back and forth, looked again.

'I brought you something.'

Chris spared a glance for the glass, without saying a word, then wrapped a finger in the rag and worked a little oil around the trigger.

'Thought it'd help us carry on our conversation.'

'I don't think so.' Chris's finger moved around the trigger guard, rubbing it until it shone, reflecting the light. Vin crossed his arms on his chest and kept watching him, undeterred.

'I'm going to say this just once.' Chris let the words rise from the cold place in his guts and sink, one after the other, into the space between them. 'Everything that ever mattered to me, I've managed to destroy, time after time, one way or another. Friendship. Love. Family. So now, I don't want anything any more. And sure as hell, you can't want or need me. So just let it go.'

Vin stood motionless before him, and Chris saw his eyes narrow, the friend's gentleness replaced by the buffalo hunter's ruthlessness and the bounty hunter's determination. And then the rifle and the cleaning rod were torn out of Chris’s hands and thrown on the floor, and Chris found himself shoved against the wall, Vin’s body pressing against his, hands gripping his arms, holding them still.

'You got maybe ten years on me, and I got maybe ten pounds on you,' Vin grated between clenched teeth, hands biting into Chris’s upper arms. 'You want this to turn into a knock-down fight, Larabee, I'll give it to you.'

Breathless and speechless from shock, Chris just stared hard at him, then shook his head.

'Good.' Vin moved even closer, face inches from Chris’s. 'You better not tell me what I want or need again. You do it, and so help me, I'll pound you into the floor, Chris, if it's the last thing I ever do. I just want you to tell me one thing, and the moment I hear it, I'll get out, and you'll be able to tell yourself that you've destroyed somethin' else, and I hope to hell that it'll keep you warm, night after night.' He paused, glaring.

'What?'

'You said you don't want anything. Say you don't want me.'

Chris's insides froze. Eyes locked in the other man's, he recognised the same tension he was feeling, the tension of the moments just before a gunfight, fear overcome by resolve to face the challenge, whatever the outcome.

'I can't,' he rasped out. 

'Right.’ Vin ground his lips against Chris's mouth, tongue pushing its way in, lapping and stroking, fast and rough. Chris felt his lips part, begin to suck, his tongue winding around the other man's, his teeth grazing at it. And he felt himself stiffen and rise as long, solid hardness pressed down on his groin, and was hazily aware of his hips lifting from the wall to accept the challenge, with one powerful thrust against that hardness.

And it was as quick and as furious as a gunfight, from Vin's soft grunt as his fingers moved down to unfasten clothes and shift them aside to his strong thrusts as his rigid, damp flesh moved and rubbed on Chris's. Chris moved by instinct, without a sound, hips meeting each thrust and slamming back hard against the bricks of the wall, confusion and lust and need coursing through his body, tension building from toes to thighs to groin to spine to brain until, with one deep moan, he burst, violent spasms shooting out of him. He felt his fingers seize moist convulsing flesh and hold it, felt it instantly explode in a series of wrenching spurts, searing his hand and his clothes with scorching, thick spatters. Chris closed his eyes, shaking, listening to the pounding of his blood.

Everything was completely still for a long time.

Gradually, Vin came back into Chris's awareness, heavy and motionless against him, warm flesh soldered to his, heartbeats slowly subsiding, lips parting in a slow, groggily affectionate smile. Chris's sticky fingers lifted to stroke the warm, sweaty stubble on Vin's cheeks, straying towards a temple, where the dusty brown curls were softer and fairer.

Vin moved a little away, wordlessly and unsteadily, looked at Chris, and jerked his chin towards the bed.

Chris nodded and, with shaking hands, reached for the glass on the table and emptied it in one long, thirsty swallow, relishing its coolness, its sweet smoothness sliding down his throat.

'If there's somethin' you don't need, it's someone tellin' you how good milk can taste,' Vin said mildly, beginning to shrug out of his shirt.

'Shut up,' Chris growled softly, his breath catching in his throat as broad shoulders and muscular arms came into view, a sprinkling of pale brown curls on the chest and around dark nipples, faint bullet scars shifting on both arms as Vin stretched to pull off his dirty boots. He made short work of shedding his own clothes, aware of Vin's eyes filling with sparks as they travelled over him.

They lay down on top of the bedspread, facing each other. Chris rested a hand on Vin's neck, the palm absorbing the warmth of the other man's body, then moving down, very slowly, to caress Vin's collarbone. He felt a thigh subtly rubbing against his, and felt desire reawaken, and with it, a sudden, painful spasm of anxiety contract his guts. _You let someone in, you're apt to lose them before you know it_. Controlling the emotion with all his strength, he spoke slowly against the other man's lips.

'Vin. Right now, all I've got is…'

Vin's lips gently silenced him, his stubble a tickling caress on Chris's cheek. 'I can wait.' He pulled Chris on top of him, hands smoothing down the other's shoulders and back in long, firm motions, settling him between his raised knees, thighs stroking thighs, hard throbbing flesh meeting Chris's, aligning itself beside it.

Chris slid an arm under Vin's neck, a long shiver of anticipation racing through him as broad palms moulded themselves to his buttocks. He began to glide slowly and steadily, building up a rhythm, every movement met by a strong rocking of the other body, his nerves becoming as taut as bowstrings and his control evaporating as motion and friction increased, became faster, more urgent. Maybe, he thought between short sharp gasps as his nerves sang and blood pounded in his stomach and belly, _maybe I won't lose this_ , and then all thoughts went blank as he tensed and shook and cried out once, loud, and spilled in long sweet desperate release.

'Chris.' Vin squeezed his eyes shut, fingers biting into Chris's buttocks, pulling him down onto his body, and shuddered and bucked and pulsed, again and again and again, panting hard against the sweaty dampness of Chris's shoulder.

Time flowed past, the air growing darker and colder around them. Chris dragged some air into his lungs, slid off Vin's body with a deep sigh, and tugged the rucked bedspread out from under their bodies, wrapping them in it. He felt a hand lift and cup his face and a thumb stroke the lines around his eyes, the circles under them. He threw an arm over the other man's body, pulling him closer, and felt Vin lean heavily against him, tousled hair brushing his shoulder, breath becoming slower, even, warm against his face. He closed his eyes and let himself drift in the temporary peace, allowing past and future and regrets and possibilities to blend and formlessly float together. 

_**Friday morning**_

Main Street was almost empty when Chris and Vin left Virginia's Hotel and headed towards the cafe for breakfast. They had spoken little on waking up, but their silence was easy as they walked close together, arms and shoulders brushing.

As he opened the door and let Vin through, Chris saw Ezra and Josiah about to stand up, the remnants of their breakfast on the table before them. He called out a greeting, feeling a spontaneous, unaccustomed smile come to his lips. 

'I have news for you,' Ezra smirked. 'Jim Turnbull's just gone to be measured for a new jacket.'

Vin grinned at him. 'Congratulations, pard.' Then he turned to Chris and looked him over, his grin broadening, the warmth and joy in it almost tangible. 'This ol’ poncho you’re wearin’. It's gettin' a little frayed, ain't it?'

Ezra's eyes travelled slowly from Vin to Chris, widened just a little, and quickly moved away as the con-man's face regained its usual wry, detached composure.

Josiah watched Chris and Vin settle down at the table they'd just vacated and gave Ezra a little friendly push towards the door. 'Thy love was wonderful to me, passing the love of women. Second book of Samuel,' he said, softly, but loud enough for the other two men to overhear.

'More power to them who find someone. Whoever and wherever that may be,' was Ezra's equally soft response, a hint of wistfulness in it, as, without turning, he lifted a hand in brief salute.

Breakfast over, Chris and Vin strolled towards the sheriff's office. As they passed the tailor's shop, both glanced inside. Kneeling in front of a self-consciously motionless Jim Turnbull, working quickly with measuring tape and grey broadcloth before it was time to set out for Eagle Bend, Dov and Riva did not look at them. In the middle of the window stood the geranium, two or three new buds tentatively stretching out from its freshly-dusted leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set immediately after the episode "Working Girls", before the revelation that Vin cannot read. And it's yet another instance of my tendency to build plots In Which Our (usually Anglo) Heroes, as well as Discovering Love and Sex, have Some Sort of Learning Experience through Contact With (usually Non-Anglo) Foreigners.
> 
> Thank you to the person (you know who you are) who helped me with language and characterization.


End file.
